


Deep Blue

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Series: Writing Rainbow Fills [1]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Pining, Sexual Fantasy, Stranded, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Adrift aboard the aft half of theForward Unto Dawn, Cortana has nothing to do but sit and wait and think herself to death.  She can calculate the odds of rescue in a vast galaxy, run simulations on how much of the UNSC survived the war, or, pursue an alternate line of thinking.





	Deep Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Burning_Nightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/gifts).



> The title is a reference to Deep Blue, the IBM computer that became famous for defeating Chess Grandmaster Garry Kasparov.

A _Charon_ -class light frigate, such as the _Forward Unto Dawn_ , was four-hundred ninety meters long. She calculated that the remnant of the _Dawn_ they were on was only two-hundred or so. She had the exact number, once, then forgot it.

She wasn’t supposed to forget it.

It would come back to her, probably. Randomly. Bits of data surfacing without attempt to recall. Specifications for all manner of U.N.S.C. vessels. Obscure U.N.S.C. farming regulations. A random poem in Sangheili that she had randomly accessed aboard _High Charity_. Obscure farming regulations somehow part of the source code of Halo. Conversations with Halsey. With Keyes. With Gravemind.

With the Chief.

The aft segment of the _Forward Unto Dawn_ was two-hundred sixty seven point oh three two nine seven six meters at its longest.

The radius observable universe was four point four times ten to the twenty-sixth power meters, although that may have been an older, pre-Slipspace measurement. And they weren’t starting from one end of the universe. The portal split the _Dawn_ at the Ark, two-hundred sixty-two thousand light years from the galactic center.

That narrowed the search radius considerably. The odds were substantially better that they could be found. Those odds were still mathematically unlikely. The odds they’d be found in time? Even less. 

In time for what? Under optimal conditions, cryogenics could keep the Chief alive for decades, barring unlikely but mathetmatically significant hardware failures. The drifting aft of a shattered frigate was not “optimal conditions”. Without cryonics, with the supplies on hand, Chief would run out of air in days.

She didn’t need air, or food. But if the cryotube held, her lifespan was a fraction of Chief’s. Under optimal conditions, it _always_ was a fraction of Chief’s.

She could resent a lot of things about her limited time. It was just the way things were, AI of her caliber couldn’t last. Not made by humans. Forerunner though—she forced that thought from her head. They lasted. But attaining that for herself… that answer wasn’t on Halo, wasn’t on the Ark.

_You who serve meat and bone, thinking little mayfly_

_A light that shines brighter then them will be swifter to die_

Thinking about the vastness of space and the shortness of time was not helping. Realistically there was no helping she could do. Being a being create to help, to serve, to do whatever was required, that was difficult.

Made to serve. That suited them both. Made to serve by Halsey.

Chief? That wasn’t his original purpose. He was born because his parents wished him to be. In a galaxy decades before she came into existence, he was chosen because of his potential. And every bit of potential Halsey saw in him was realized, and more. Master Chief Petty Officer John-117. He’d been made to stave off human rebellion, forged and turned into the strongest weapon system the U.N.S.C. could make.

She? She was always constructed for the purpose of war. A war he hadn’t been made for but served in regardless. A war humanity was mathematically certain to lose unless something drastic happened. Halsey made her in her own image. And she did not disappoint.

They were a natural pair, Halsey created them, and they synergized well. They did what she herself thought was impossible more than once. Saved the galaxy. Fractured the Covenant. Eradicated the Flood.

Gotten lost on the edge of space.

She liked thinking about Chief, inasmuch as she could like thinking when thinking would kill her and she could not stop thinking because not thinking would mean she was dead. For four years she had been with him, and had seen things that she never possibly could have anticipated. There was kinship with him, both from their origins and everything they had seen together. Shared in victory and loss. Love was... there were a million definitions. Flowery words of poets or neurobiological discussions of endorphins. What she had for Chief wasn't biological, simply couldn't be. But, it quite possibly was love. She knew it was reciprocated--Chief risked himself for her countless times. But their parallels, how he was physically and mentally capable do doing nearly anything, and how she was able to think of anything… it all led back to the _Dawn_.

There were other things to think about.

It was just another sign that she was deteriorating. There was no reason at all for her to run simulations on it. It was impossible for a hundred different ays, not the least of which were the physical. 

But still, it beat thinking about the vastness of space _again_.

She was created in Halsey’s image, and was a she, inasmuch as data could be. She presented herself as a younger Halsey, nude but featureless, because that anatomy did not matter in an avatar. A face, eyes, expressions people could read, did.

That anatomy did not matter.

Except what did matter at this juncture? Presenting herself as an anatomically correct female was trivial. The question would be, if she woke John up, which she wouldn’t, because she didn’t want to stress the system, how would he react?

SPARTANS had a very low sex drive. Between rigorous mental conditioning, years without physical intimacy of any sort, and years of war. John had killed men at age twelve, was more comfortable with violence than affection. He was fond of her, he’d risked his life for her countless times, but he likely wouldn’t see her that way—like she shouldn’t be seeing him that way. He would be confused, not aroused, most likely. Concerned for her, of course—John would worry for her.

But if you tweaked the simulation… and she was tweaking things, overcoming her lack of form…

He’d be taller than her—she could vary her size if she wanted, but Halsey was one-hundred seventy centimeters, which was a good baseline for her. Chief was two-hundred eight centimeters, out of armor. Stronger, too, assuming Halsey as a baseline. Wrapping his arms around her, he could engulf her easily. She frowned at the memory of the only ‘embrace’… the only thing she had ever truly felt as anything more than a points of data, a type of tactile synesthesia that the Gravemind had inflicted upon her

It hadn’t been unpleasant, in fact, _feeling_ felt good.

It was just that was Gravemind using that, showing her something that she could never have in an attempt to break her. They activated Halo in what passed for its face and all that was left of that experience was a data point for this.

She’d have to encourage him—the point of this simulation… fantasy… was to be as close to how John would react, allowing for changes in behavior to allow the fantasy to continue. She could—she was good at giving him orders, after all. She’d also be touching him—it suddenly struck her that he likely had never been held unless carted off a battlefield, never been caressed instead of clinically examined, never felt someone urgently press into him and _want_.

She could fix all those things. In the fantasy.

Human sexuality was a quite varied topic, but for her purposes, imagining a standard scenario was sufficient—future permutations were possible. John would hold her, and she would tell him what to do—the broad strokes, not anything particular. John would be cautious, keenly aware of how much stronger he was, then get more insistent as she moaned and whined. He would take charge when he was sure that the cries she let out were ones of pleasure.

And it would be pleasurable for them both. No one knew her better than he did—he could gauge her amazingly well given how little socialization he’d truly had outside the context of squadmates in war. And she? She was in his head. She knew what he’d like.

Making love, having sex, fucking like animals. Synonyms for acts she couldn’t perform, but think about. He’d pick the pace—she could ride him if she wanted, but once he’d gotten ready for the act itself he probably would take the lead. It would be wild. He was big in so many senses of the word, and strong, but inexperienced. She’d have to encourage gentleness, and he’d very easily listen.

And they’d be together.

He’d likely finish first, depending on how much foreplay there was. Simple biological facts. But he would definitely not leave her unfulfilled. He would finger her until she shuddered and wailed, and then they’d lie down together…

And like that, it was over, them laying together. Her small, resting her head against his chest. Both of them laying together, drifting off to sleep while adrift on the _Forward Unto Dawn_. It always led back to that. Adrift.

Running out of time.

Unable to carry out any of those thoughts.

Unable to do even something as minor, as token as simply reaching out and _touching_ John.

Cortana took a breath she couldn’t actually take and didn’t actually need, and her avatar forced a smile. “Fun while it lasted, eh Chief?”

Of course, there were plenty of variables to work out… and until the point she thought herself to death, it was not like there was anything better to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Writing Rainbow Exchange. To the Requestor, I hope you enjoyed this--it was interesting to write. I interpreted "stranded" and "space horror" in your tags as simply the horror is in how much space there is, not what is in it--adrift is a bad place to be if you hope to be found. 
> 
> If this wasn't what you were hoping for, please let me know, Halo's a massive playground and if you would prefer something else I'd like to make something you'd enjoy.


End file.
